The First Duck
by Raven of the Noldor
Summary: Bucky is living with Steve and Sam now. A lesson is learned, there is a rubber duckie gained, and hugs are given.


**Here we are, the third story of the Citizen Soldier 'verse! This one was really fun to write, and I may have discovered the theme of this whole universe. We'll find out.**

* * *

Bucky is waiting for the other shoe to drop. He hurt Steve. He hurt _Steve_. And Steve hasn't done anything.

Bucky remembers HYDRA. He remembers lashing out once, at a superior, a handler, someone. He had paid for it. So why hasn't Steve done anything? Bucky almost _killed_ him, and Steve hasn't lashed out, hasn't yelled, hasn't so much as raised his voice towards him.

Steve is kind, and gentle, and forgiving, and that scares Bucky even more, because that just means it will hurt worse when he gives up and finally snaps at him, punishes him for what he's done, wipes him, new mission,_newtargetkillkillbloodnoStevehelpwipehim…_

"Bucky?"

He snaps himself out of his thoughts, peering up at Steve. The blond is standing in the doorway, a basket of laundry under one arm. "Do you need a distraction?"

He nods mutely. Steve smiles gently. "Come on. I'll just put this in the machine and then we can work on that puzzle Clint sent, okay?"

"Okay." Bucky gets up, and follows Steve quietly to the machine in the laundry room. There's a basket of towels sitting next to the dryer.

Steve measures the powder into the machine and dumps the contents of the basket in after it. Bucky watches curiously. He's seen Steve do the laundry before, but he's never done it the same way. Sometimes he twists the dials one way, and other times, he twists them another. There has to be a pattern somewhere, and if he can find it, maybe he can help do this, and give Steve more time to do more important things?

Steve puts the lid down carefully – they had learned the hard way that the clanging of the lid dropping was hard on both their ears. "Do you still want to do that puzzle, Buck?"

_Want_. The word still causes a little flutter of panic, but it's gotten so much better since he helped Evelyn at the café a few weeks ago. "Yes."

"Great! It's in the kitchen, right? And do you remember what it is? I wasn't paying that much attention. There were a lot of groceries to put away."

Bucky knows what Steve is doing. He knows that he's trying to get him to talk more, to feel comfortable talking. "It's butterflies."

"Right," Steve smiles at him brilliantly. "I think that he's teasing us about something, but I can't decide what, you know?" He continues to talk as they make their way back down the hall to the kitchen. Bucky relaxes into the soothing rhythm, feeling his limbs loosen.

He blinks as they enter the kitchen. It's bright in here, large windows letting in plenty of light. He likes the color of the walls - it's a very soft beige, and the light almost reflects off, making the room look even brighter.

"Here it is," Steve remarks, opening the puzzle box and tipping the pieces onto the table. "How should we do this?" He asks no one in particular.

"The – The edges first?" he thinks he remembers that from a different time. _"No, Bucky, you've got to do the edges!" _He looks around for a notebook to write down the words before he forgets. There's one on the counter, and he carefully tears a page out and scribbles the words down. He tucks it into his pocket.

"I think that's a good idea, Buck. Can you help me find the corner pieces?" Steve sits down and pulls out the chair next to him. Bucky glances between Steve and the chair. Is it okay?

"It's fine, Buck. You don't have to wait for permission." Steve's blue eyes are sad.

"Sorry," Bucky murmurs, ducking his head. He scans the colorful pieces on the table, and spots one of the pieces Steve is looking for. He holds it up.

"Great! One down, three do go!" Steve leans forward, studying the pieces carefully.

Bucky peeks over at Steve as they continue to work. The blond's face is thoughtful and focused as he sorts through the small pieces.

As if he senses Bucky's eyes on him, Steve looks over with that warm smile which promises that everything will be okay. "What's on your mind, Buck?"

Bucky feels himself blush. The Asset warns him that _you've been caught, and he'll be angry at you, you aren't supposed to look, be quiet follow orders…_ But the other side of him, the one from Before, reassures him that _it's okay, you know it is_._ Steve will never, ever hurt you._ "Jus – Jus' thinkin'," he stammers. "Bout how – how nice you are. You an' Sam."

Steve smiles as he fits two of the puzzle pieces together. "Are we living up to your expectations?"

Bucky nods. He snaps together a few more pieces. He thinks he sees a wing beginning to take shape. A quick glance at the box confirms it.

"Good. Sam is great, isn't he?"

Bucky smiles. Steve likes it when he does that – it makes his whole face light up. "He found the apartment?"

"He did. Did a better job then I could have, honestly. Real estate was never my specialty."

They continue to work in silence as the sun travels across the sky. Steve makes them sandwiches and apple juice when the sky begins to paint orange across the clouds. He makes an extra one for Sam for when he gets home.

It isn't long after that they hear the familiar tread up the stairs as their friend arrives. "I come bearing gifts!" He calls.

"We're in here!" Steve calls back, twisting in his seat. Bucky follows suit.

"I saw this when I was taking a walk, and I felt like it was important," Sam says, a teasing smile on his face. "A rubber ducky, for Russian Bucky." He tosses the small yellow object and Bucky catches it out of reflex. He looks at it curiously. It's a small yellow duck, with an _ushanka_ hat on it.

"He's not Russian, Sam," Steve says, sounding annoyed. Bucky looks between the two of them. Though they've told him a thousand times, that they aren't actually mad, it _sounds_ that way, and that's never good.

"Hey, don't blame me. This was meant to be, right, Bucky?"

Bucky looks back down at the duck, then back up at Sam. "What – what do I do with it?"

"Whatever you want, man. You could make a collection."

He reaches over to twist the slightly faded bracelet that he still wears around his wrist. It's become something of a nervous habit.

He's nervous a lot.

"I – I think that would be nice."

* * *

Contrary to what Steve had expected, Bucky doesn't have loud nightmares.

He doesn't cry out. He doesn't talk, doesn't struggle.

He's quiet, the softest whimpers slipping from his lips, the occasional twitch of a finger, whole body curled up.

Steve sometimes doesn't know about the nightmares until the next morning, when Bucky has dark circles under his eyes and he's jumpy and shy. It makes him feel terrible, to know that Bucky is suffering, and he won't know about it until it's too late.

Tonight is not one of those nights.

Bucky has had a pretty good day, all told. His Russian rubber ducky is sitting on the bedside table, and Steve is certain more will join it soon. They had worked more on the butterfly puzzle, with Sam's help, and watched a movie – a Disney film called The Lion King. Bucky had been enraptured by the story, and Steve had been too. The story was fairly simple, but imaginative, and Steve is certain he'll be hearing the music fairly often.

But after the movie was over, Bucky had become quieter, and more agitated. It wasn't particularly noticeable at first, but by the time they called it a night, he was flinching at sudden movements and watching them both more nervously.

So now, Steve is awake, staring unseeingly at the pages of his Bible. He and Sam had traded knowing glances before retreating to their own rooms, because tonight wouldn't be fun.

He gets up and slips out of his room quietly, determined to get a glass of water. And maybe to check on Bucky. Mostly to check on Bucky. Sam's light is on as well, when he walks past.

He stops outside Bucky's door, listening quietly for the telltale sounds.

Sure enough, Bucky is shifting slightly in his sleep, distressed noises working their way out of his throat.

Steve steps inside, quietly, and touches his friend's flesh shoulder.

Almost immediately, Bucky shoots upright, breathing heavily, eyes wide. "St-teve?"

"It's okay, Bucky. It's okay, you're safe. They can't hurt you."

"Steve?" Bucky's voice cracks, and he looks up pleadingly. Steve sits down next to Bucky and gently wraps his arms around his friend.

Bucky's arms lock around him tightly, one flesh, one metal. "Don't go away?"

"Of course not," Steve soothes gently. "I'll stay as long as you want me too."

"Don't want – don't want –"

"Don't want what?"

"Don't want you to change," Bucky says quickly, pulling back and searching Steve's face franticly.

He looks down at himself. Sure, this is different then how he used to be, but that can't be what Bucky is talking about, can it? "What do you mean?"

"I hurt you," Bucky whispers, looking down at his clasped hands. "One day, you're going to change, and I – I don't want that."

Oh. _Oh._ Suddenly it clicks. "Bucky, I'm not upset about that."

Bucky's blue eyes are confused, and pleading for answers. "That's – that's not –" he mumbles, and Steve puts one arm around him.

"Hey. That was HYDRA. I'm not going to hurt you, Buck. _Ever._ I promise. I'll die before I let that happen."

Bucky leans into Steve's arm, and tucks his head into Steve's shoulder. He breathes in and out with a full body shudder. "Th'nks, Stevie," he mumbles. It doesn't take long for him to fall asleep.

Steve waits until he's certain Bucky's out, then wraps a blanket around him and silently closes the door as he leaves. Normally, he would stay with Bucky, but he heard Sam out in the kitchen. He'll drink the coffee and then go back to Bucky.

Sam is waiting with coffee. "And?"

"He thought I wanted to punish him for trying to kill me, Sam," Steve says sadly. He sits down and scoots his mug of coffee closer. He swirls the liquid around, staring morosely. He feels like he's got lead in his stomach.

"We knew this wasn't going to be easy," Sam says quietly. "It's all about positive reinforcement. He'll work it out. So just keep doing what you're doing."

Steve smiles weakly. "Are you sure I'm doing this right?"

Sam doesn't hesitate before answering. "Absolutely. Just give him time, Rogers. You'll see."

* * *

**Poor Bucky. Don't worry, Steve knows now, and there will be lots of hugs and fluff coming up!**

**I think the theme of these stories might revolve around Bucky collecting rubber duckies and the lessons that go along with them. If there's any particular duckies and themes you would like to see, let me know!**


End file.
